Entangled in your darkness, immersed in your wind
by Cafe de Flore
Summary: Dark post-war reality in which one's despair may be lessened by another's.


A shivering light of a lone candle, placed in a glass jar, lit the table. The jar was dirty. Ashes and sticky gunk was attached to the bottom, its' walls blackened by smoke and the top of it chipped from a probably not-so-recent fall, but it kept the flame safe from the winds that whistled inside. The patterns of smoke cast a shadow on the table, covering it with intricate black silhouettes, attempting to find their place on the uneven surface.

Shikamaru poured himself another glass and placed a bottle back on the table, the thud lost in between the murmur of the bar. Glasses being washed by a barman, someone pulling the chair, one of it's legs making a screeching sound against the floor, wind howling outside and inside, a lighter sizzling a cigarette, someone's conversation, ceiling creaking from steps upstairs, shouts from outside. He bathed his mind in the background noise and gulped down his drink, ceasing any attempt to think.

Her fingers wrapped around the edge of rusty metal sink as she stared into the misty glass. Her wet hair dripped, creating plopping sounds at the floor, and some droplets rolled down her pale and lifeless face. Temari leaned closer, investigating the person in front of her as if it was someone who she didn't know or could barely recognize. She cast a blaming glance at the mirror itself, its' edges whitened from constant humidity, the centre dirty from fingerprints. Yet these dead eyes stared back at her from every single reflection.

She scrubbed her hands one more time, trying to get rid of blood from under her fingernails. The sight of it painted a tiny smirk on her mouth, that faded as she straightened up and breathed deeply in and out, casting a glance at her room for a night and a bloody tessen against the wall. She went downstairs.

Her steps sounded the same, but her look was empty. As if under a genjutsu she stared in front of herself with unseeing eyes, her mind lost in thought. She walked as a clockwork doll programmed for one and only task – to get a bottle of wine, apparently. Her eyes sparkled for a second – or so it seemed – when her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle and she inspected her holdings. But the sparkle was gone when she turned around to go back, and this is when her eyes darted to his table, with straight intention as if she had felt his stare.

Shikamaru didn't move. His hand holding the glass hovered in the air next to his lips, his eyes fixed at hers. What would have been a pleasant encounter long ago now was strange, because he looked at someone who he used to know, but did not know anymore. And in her indifferent look he might have seen a hint of recognition, but most of all it was an equally dazzled gaze and no trace of her trademark smirk.

He gulped the shot down, seeing her approach, and filled it up again while Temari sat across wordlessly. He watched as she popped the bottle open and poured herself a glass of red wine, then tasted it – all of it without ever looking up at him.

She leaned back into a chair, staring at her drink. The colour of it reminded of blood, and she swirled it around in the glass, before taking another sip. She raised her look to meet a pair of black eyes that used to be familiar, changed the same way hers had changed. Apathetic, with no emotion behind them. A look of someone who didn't want to be here, more accurately didn't want to be anyplace. She looked deep as if having found some resemblance to herself, her eyes slightly glistening with concentration.

Shikamaru looked at the window, from where the sound of the first raindrops came and filled the silence. It was dark outside, and he saw a reflection of himself joined by a girl who used to be so good at kicking his ass into some motivation. He wasn't naïve to expect her unchanged, and her look evidently proved she didn't really expect anything too. Their eyes met again, and he filled another glass.

The silence was soothing, and she breathed more easily with each passing minute, loosening up her shoulders and stealing an occasional glance at the man across the table. He wore a beard, his forehead was carved with a few wrinkles. His vest was ripped at the left side above the heart. His bottle was half empty. She drank her last glass.

He sighed silently, and she raised her eyes at him again. The sound of a pouring rain overpowered the sounds inside, burying the filthy reality under some comfortable illusion that appeared with the shared look. Her hand reached across the table, seemingly for his, but it wrapped around the sake bottle, and she looked again the same way – emotionless and empty – before she went towards the stairs.

Shikamaru followed, stepping behind her into the darkness of a room. The air was thick and heavy, but he breathed in deeply at the side of her neck, his hands clinging at the flesh of her waist. She took a drink straight from the bottle and turned around, her fingers clutching at the back of his neck and resting his forehead against hers, breathing and exhaling through clenched teeth. She opened her mouth for a kiss and pressed herself against him with all of her body, already feeling him getting hard.

Gropingly she found the table and let go of the bottle, but it fell down and rolled across the floor alongside her dress. Shikamaru buried his face between her breasts, kissing and biting with a hunger he didn't try to fight, his hands exploring her curves and lines, the nape of her neck, her hair. They rolled over, and Temari sucked at his neck, her hands pulling away his clothes. He slid his fingers under her panties and pulled, his breaths heavy against her mouth, and they stopped for a split second with a sound of fabric getting ripped. He felt her smile against his lips, and his own mouth uncontrollably curved. Their eyes met in dim light, and suddenly both pairs seemed gleaming with life, surprised at the turn of events.

He kissed her hard, holding his hands at the back of her head, and pushed his hips up, forcing her moan. Her nails dug into his skin, she pushed off and sat up. Shikamaru ran his hands up her arched back, helping her move above him, clutching his fingers around her full and soft breasts. Her body from below was something he couldn't pull away his eyes from. He hoisted up, wrapping his fingers around her neck and Temari audibly sighed, glancing him a powerful look. He felt her muscles contract around him, and his hand slid in her hair and pulled back in response. He sat up and held her, by hair and by hips, and she moaned with every thrust he did inside her.

Her arms wrapped around him and pulled, making him fall on top of her. Her head hung over the edge of the bed and she let her neck muscles relax and closed her eyes at the feeling of blood rushing into her head, strengthening the pulsing as he moved. She pulled his hair tie, letting his black strands loose, and entwined her fingers there, making him groan partly with pain and partly pleasure, while he watched her with his hair obstructing the view and the passion evident in his eyes.

Her finger sneaked into his mouth stealing some saliva, and as her hand reached between her legs he stopped breathing. His hands grabbed her hipbones, the skin under his fingers whitening, and held onto her while moving his own hips against her core. He watched her agonic face, her jumping breasts, the sight of himself entering her, the _feeling_ of entering her, and she moaned louder, her hand so teasingly moving between their bodies. He looked away in vain as she practically screamed, but couldn't force himself to stop. Instead moved faster and stronger, and it didn't take much until she did scream – her mouth open with a satisfaction, eyes tightly shut, all of her body tense and her muscles contracting around him once again – he pulled out and released himself on her belly and breasts, shivering with the intensity of his own orgasm. Temari tried to regain her breath, not caring a bit of his seeds rolling between her breasts and up to her neck, over her shoulder and to the ground. Her body relaxed in the aftermath, and Shikamaru gathered his last bits of energy to pull her back up on the bed, still hovering above her.

She opened her eyes and looked up, and he could see the life back in her teal, her face like he used to remember – shining eyes and full lips ready to curve into one of her sly smiles. The sight stung him in his chest with painful longing of everything he had lost, Temari definitely being a part of that.

She looked up to see a familiar sparkle and the lazy look, the same eyes that always gave _her_ a special gaze, the face of someone who always knew how to get under her skin. An unwelcome hope filled her up, she tried to fight it but had lost that fight before it even began.

\- I never got over it. I know I am weak, and inside I'm probably still just a child who doesn't know how to be an adult, and the thought makes me feel so sick I'd rather stop thinking. I don't know how to be a man everyone else wants me to be, and I don't have anyone to ask how.

\- I didn't care, I couldn't care how everyone else was doing, because there was no one who cared how I was. I abandoned whatever relationship I had with Gaara and couldn't face him any more without remembering of our brother, I neglected what happened, because it hurt too much. And because it hurt too much, I began doing whatever I could to remind myself of it until it all got dull. There is a limit to a pain one can feel, and at some point, your mind just shuts it off. Along with everything else.

\- I hate the missions. I don't want to do any missions, because I can't find in myself strength and confidence, despite how easy they may be. I hate being in Konoha, where everyone eyes me with some kind of look. Accusations, pity, shame, expectations. My home is no more my home. It takes me twice as long to come back because I spend time at the inns like this, getting drunk and trying to forget everything.

\- The missions are the only thing that keeps me alive, because only then I feel _something_. I became even more of an emotionless creature than I was before, and now I seek excitement by taking up assassinations, and instead of effectively doing my job I hunt my target as if they were prey.

\- I'm fucked up.

\- I'm fucked up.


End file.
